Four Times Five is Twelve
by Emrys1
Summary: John and Rodney find themselves on a peculiar world. Shep-whumping! Originally posted in the zine, Jumper Three.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hi All! This fic was originally posted in the 'zine, Jumper Three. I hope you all enjoy it. Warning for naughty language.

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the creators of Stargate Atlantis. Additionally, I am not receiving any compensation for this piece of fiction.  
***

Four Times Five is Twelve  
By Emrys

_"Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate!"_  
_ ~Alice from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

John opens his eyes and sees the sky. It's a deep purple, a wondrous mass punctuated by crystalline-looking stars that he thinks he can touch if he stretches far enough. Cool air moves across his supine body, and his mind clears—just a little—with the caress of the refreshing breeze. He blinks, slow and lazy, and hears the rushing sound of wind pushing its way through the spaces between leaves. He coughs, then takes a deep breath that smells like red and orange autumn. In the distance, he hears wind chimes. Their sound is almost like a song he knew in childhood, but it's twisted and untrue. He doubts his senses.

Another slow blink coupled with a second cough, and the sounds around him change. They morph from the calm and easy noises of an autumnal evening to the squawking and outraged complaints of the perpetually irked.

He's not terribly surprised when Rodney McKay's face blocks his view of the stars.

"I blame this entirely on you!" McKay says.

John has no idea what the physicist is going on about, and can only squint in a desperate fight for concentration. He can't recall being the cause of any situation.

"I didn't do anything," he claims. His voice is rough, and his tongue is thick, like a piece of used up chewing gum between his teeth. The words come out clumsy and unclear, but this doesn't seem to present a problem to the increasingly irate McKay.

"My point exactly!" he crows. "You didn't do anything. Isn't it your job to keep us from getting into these sorts of situations? Or at least take on the responsibility of getting sucked through weird force fields that may or may not have a time-related component associated with them? I thought that was part of your job description. Not mine!"

John feels his forehead involuntarily crinkle with confusion. Another breeze passes over him, and he wishes he could just relax and enjoy the sensation.

"You could have at least volunteered to go first!" McKay's ranting continues, and it's amazing how he doesn't seem to need a breath between sentences.

"McKay, I have no idea what you're talking about. Could you calm down and give me a minute to catch up?" John's tongue still feels thick and clumsy, but the words come out clearer this time.

"I seriously doubt we have a minute, Colonel!" Rodney says, the irritation plain on his face.

He moves out of sight, and John is trying to sit up to assess the situation when Rodney abruptly returns. He desperately pulls at his hair, and his eyes are wild with frustration and just a little panic.

"God! My hair's going to be gray, isn't it? Oh, God! We're going to get back, and my hair's going to be gray!"

It's at this moment when John manages to sit up and gain a better understanding of the situation. The last thing he remembers seeing, before ending up flat on his back with a perfectly nice breeze brushing over him, are the darkened hallways of the abandoned and distant parts of Atlantis. In the middle of an uncharacteristically quiet couple of routine weeks, he and his team were edgy to do something useful. He had volunteered them for an exploratory expedition into the bowels of Atlantis. All was normal and boring until he got here.

"Where the hell are we, McKay?" John asks, studying the landscape. Because it is a landscape, not the inside of Atlantis. There are trees, towering and filled with the multi-colored leaves of fall, and the moon shines full and bright in the nighttime sky above. He takes a deep breath and is startled to realize that the rich odors of autumn he sensed before are real and not solely part of distant recollections. It smells like the memory he has of two weeks spent in New England when he was a kid. He remembers loving the feel of the air at night, the vague sense of adventure everywhere.

"Stop looking like an idiot," Rodney snaps.

John realizes he had zoned out. In the next instant, he realizes McKay is a little freaked out or he wouldn't use that particular tone on him.

After a tense moment, Rodney relaxes, and his ex-pression turns to one of concern. "Are you all right?" he asks. "You've been unconscious for a while."

"I'm fine," John says, and then realizes he's still sitting and that convincing Rodney of his "fine" status would go over a lot better if he actually stands up. He climbs to his feet with a little effort. The moon still spins dizzily in the sky once he's vertical.

"You don't look fine," Rodney says, subdued. "And don't try to deny it. The moonlight's bright enough I can see you actually look a little green. Not exactly a natural color."

John figures he better focus Rodney on something other than his apparently green complexion.

"McKay, where the hell are we?" he asks again.

"I'm not exactly sure about that," Rodney says, hesitantly. "But the way we got in here reminds me an awful lot of that time dilation field you stumbled into last month."

John grimaces unhappily. Being stuck and alone in an Ancient wonderland is not one of his fonder memories.

I can't really be this unlucky, he thinks. But as an afterthought he realizes that, yeah, actually, he can.

"Don't assume the worst, McKay," he says, hiding his own doubts with forced optimism. "You don't know for sure there's a time dilation, do you?"

"Of course I don't know for sure, but it would make sense, wouldn't it? Being knocked out and useless after traveling through a strange force field? And what the hell, Sheppard? Do you even know me? Hi, I'd like to introduce myself: Doctor Rodney McKay, physicist and most intelligent man in the Pegasus Galaxy. Oh, and by the way, I'm smart enough to know when I'm in deep shit!"

"McKay…." John drawls, unsuccessfully trying to interrupt the physicist's panicked tirade.

"What alternate universe do you inhabit that it's not always the worst situation? Especially when you're in the mix!"

Despite McKay's echoing of his own, earlier thoughts, John is surprised enough by Rodney's demeanor to say something in a tone sufficiently sharp to grab the physicist's fractured attention.

"What exactly are you saying, McKay?"

"I'm saying that trouble follows you!" Rodney exclaims, obviously exasperated. Then he notices that Sheppard looks peeved and tries to ease the accusation. "You! Us! What's the difference? I'd just rather be prepared for the worst than be taken by surprise, is all," he says, a little grudgingly.

Sheppard opens his mouth to argue, but is shocked to discover he has nothing to say. Rodney is right, and they're both just going to have to deal with the situation in the best way they can.

He takes a deep breath in an attempt to ease his own tension and raises his hands placatingly.

"Okay, Rodney. Okay. Let's take a moment to figure this out."

"Figure what out? What's to figure out? We stepped from one room to another and ended up in the middle of freakin' nowhere!"

"Is that what happened?" John asks, puzzled.

"What?"

"Was it one step to the next? Are you sure about that?"

"What the hell's the matter with you, Sheppard? Yeah, it was like that. Knocked me for a friggin' loop. I fell flat on my face. One minute there was nice, smooth floor under my feet, and the next I was stepping through weird force fields and tripping on mole hills and clumps of weedy grass!"

"Wait, I thought you said you were knocked out," Sheppard says, grasping at straws.

"Well, uh, no, not exactly. You went limp and unconscious, but I just, well, uh, tripped."

"Huh," Sheppard says, thinking and evaluating his own condition.

"'Huh,' he says," Rodney grumbles. "Brilliant."

"I don't feel like I did with the time dilation. I was never knocked out then. And it took a lot longer to get my body back under control. I wasn't able to stand up so quickly."

"That's because parts of you crossed over the dilation at different times than other parts of you," Rodney says. His tone is that of an impatient teacher trying to get a dull student to understand the simplest of concepts.

"Still, this feels totally different. Don't you think? I mean, all your parts crossed the dilation at the same time when you came to get me. Did you feel the same as you do now?"

Rodney takes a moment to think and then grimaces.

"No," he admits. "I guess you're right."

"Okay, then. Let's not assume the worst."

Rodney grumbles something, but Sheppard's ears are ringing and he misses it.

"We'll get out of here, McKay. Don't worry," John says. "The others will figure this out."

"Hello! Smartest man in the Pegasus Galaxy!" Rodney cries out tauntingly, pointing both of his thumbs at himself. "I'm the guy we want out there trying to figure this out!"

"Zelenka will think of something," John says.

"Zelenka's an idiot," Rodney mutters. "My cat has more sense."

"He's the one that got you out of that Wraith dart," John replies in stubborn support of the good-natured Czech.

"Oh, and look at how well that worked out! You have no idea what it's like to have a girl stuck in your head! And she was pushy!"

"All right, okay. Let's just figure something out on our end then," Sheppard says, and wishes he could sink to the ground and go back to sleep. It's then he realizes he has everything with him that he had when they left on this half-assed mission. "Hey, do you have any equipment? Anything that could identify an energy signature?"

"Well, yeah, right here," Rodney says, pulling a detector out of a vest pocket. "But it's not picking anyth—"

"What?" John asks, dismayed by McKay's sudden distraction.

"Huh, that's weird," Rodney says thoughtfully.

"What's weird, McKay?" John asks with forced patience.

"Oh, it's just before when I tried to find life signs or energy signatures, there was nothing. Now there's an energy signature." Rodney's attention returns to the screen. "Must have been the initial effects of the force field we walked through. Probably made the detector go all screwy or something. Still, it's kind of weird."

"You said it's picking up an energy signature?" John asks as a headache begins to pound relentlessly behind his eyes.

"What? Oh, yeah. In fact, it has the same energy signature as a stargate."

"See! Well, there you go, Rodney. We just need to find that gate, dial home, and all's well that ends well. I told you not to think the worst. Sometimes things just work out."

"It's kind of far though," Rodney grumbles disparagingly, but he enthusiastically steps toward the direction of the signal.

"Wait, wait," John says, experiencing a stab of pessimism that isn't entirely unexpected. He grabs Rodney's shoulder to stop his forward momentum. "Are you sure it's a stargate, McKay?"

"Well, not having much else but this, at best, adequate piece of equipment, well, then, no, I'm not sure." He smiles, though, and then points happily at the scanner. "But if it walks like a stargate and talks like a stargate, then…." Rodney doesn't finish the sentiment, but then again, he doesn't have to. He also looks too happy with himself, so John lifts his hand and lets him go.

He sighs heavily and rubs heavy fingers into his aching eyes before following.

They walk through the pleasant evening. There are gently swaying trees surrounding them, but the grassy path they follow is wide and continues on into the far distance. It's a nice night and easy traveling, and though John is on alert, he finds himself enjoying the stroll.

"Reminds me of the area around my folks' old vacation home," Rodney mutters, wistfully. "I loved that place. Jeannie did, too, but we didn't go often."

"Makes me think of this place in Connecticut I went to when I was a kid," John says, sharing Rodney's reminiscent mood. "There was a carnival there with the biggest freakin' Ferris wheel I'd ever seen. Don't know how they carried that thing from one town to the next."

Rodney smiles briefly but doesn't say anything for a while. When he does, he's back to business.

"It's another twenty miles or so before we get there," he says, squinting at the glowing detector.

That thing must be hard to read with the moonlight bouncing off its screen, John thinks. He complacently studies the moon and thinks childhood thoughts without wondering too hard why they are so strong in his mind right now. It's the moon and the trees and the nighttime breeze that are responsible, and he's happy.

Until the pain in his head spikes, and he grunts with the intensity of it. That's when all hell breaks loose.

Rodney is calmer than he ever thought he could be given the situation, but he supposes it's because there's a stargate in the distance and the traveling is easy. Things could be worse.

And then suddenly they are.

Behind him, Sheppard grunts and stops walking. Rodney turns, because, really, the guy's been looking sick since he woke up. And no one's face—seriously, no one's face—should be that particular shade of green. When he turns, he sees Sheppard put a hand to his head and then drop to the ground in a tumbled heap.

"Sheppard!" Rodney yells, and then the ground is gone from beneath his feet.

Literally.

Gone.

Rodney cries out in fear as he drops a good ten feet, only to be gently caught by the freakin' ground! and lifted thirty feet in the opposite direction.

Up.

Way, way up.

He tries to grab onto something, anything real and tangible, but nothing's at hand. Instead, his body is propelled higher. On the belly-plummeting, barf-inducing way up, he catches a glimpse of Sheppard's limp body flying downward. He can't tell if the man is all right, or conscious, or even fucking alive, because suddenly they're out of each other's sight. Rodney's body spins, and tumbles upward, and then abruptly stops.

He has a moment to stare at the bright, silver moon, before he realizes he's sitting on top of a small mountain—or at least a freakin' foothill. He's being held aloft by the ground which is cupped around his body in a protective, chair-like way. He has another moment to contemplate hurling all over himself when the ground disappears beneath him, and again he's falling.

He doesn't even get a chance to vomit.

He screams the whole way down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Hi! It's me again. For those of you who have been nice enough to send me feedback about this fic...thanks so much for all of the kind words! I'll try to reply to each of you as soon as I can...it's been a crazy sort of week for me. Anyway, this story is finished, but since it was published in a zine, there are some formatting issues that I have to take care of before I can post on . So, I'm fixing those issues as fast as I can. I'll post as I go.**

**Here's the next installment. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Emrys**

**Four Times Five is Twelve - Part 2**

When John wakes up, he's lying on his stomach in the soft and gracefully waving grass. A trickle of something irritates and tickles his upper lip. He wipes it away and squints at his hand afterward. He thinks the stuff is blood, but he can't be sure, what with his vision being blurry and all.

He tries to take stock of the situation, but all he's aware of is the serene sound of breezy air and the cool softness under him.

And the hand clutching desperately at his shoulder.

"Rodney?" he says in a gasping and rough voice. He notices the sun, rising but still low on the horizon. The color of the trees is brighter now that the light is growing. The breeze gusting through them is still fresh and gentle. It's going to be a perfect autumn day.

"H-here," Rodney stutters.

The freaked out way McKay says the single word has John struggling to turn over and get a good look at the man. Rodney is pale and shaking. His eyes are wide open with what seems like shock.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" John manages to growl before levering himself up into a sitting position. The pain in his head ratchets up a few notches, and he stifles a moan. Right now, Rodney, who still clutches desperately at him, is his main concern.

"What the hell's the matter with me? Huh? Let's just count the ways. Let's just see. What the hell's the matter with me?" Rodney speaks fast, and his voice is twisted with high anxiety that John recognizes as an indication that something really bad is going on.

"McKay—"

"The ground, Colonel. The ground just—" Rodney is reduced to making staccato squawking noises. His hands move up and down, over his head and then down to angrily punch the ground.

John grabs him and shakes him gently to get his attention.

"Calm down, McKay. Take a couple of deep breaths and then tell me what happened."

Rodney bends his head and does exactly as he's commanded. In between telling the story of how the ground betrayed them both, he glares accusingly at it. He kicks angrily at the grass a couple of times, and the broken leaves produce a fragrant scent that reminds John of summer.

Rodney's shaking has eased a bit, and John pats him gently on the shoulder.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, and Rodney huffs out a sarcastic laugh.

"My ass is so bruised I can't even contemplate it," Rodney says. "And I've got a hangnail. Fuckin' ground."

John smiles and feels a trickle of warmth ooze from his nose. He wipes it away with a subdued swipe of his hand.

"Rodney, what could cause something like that?" he asks, hoping to conceal the nosebleed from his friend.

"I have no freakin' clue," Rodney says, grumpily. "Need I remind you I'm an astrophysicist, not some pansy-assed geologist?"

"Rodney," John says, in a warning tone. He knows better. McKay's smart enough to have some idea what could have caused such an abnormality as the ground literally dropping out from underneath them.

"Well, I suppose it could have been an earthquake, or a sinkhole. I tried the detector, but it's limited in scope. And, well, look at the ground."

John scans the area and immediately understands the physicist's point.

"No damage."

"No damage," Rodney echoes. "In the end it just suddenly stopped. It was like the ground just quieted down, and I ended up right next to you." He stands and begins pacing. His hands wave wildly in the air as he thinks out loud. "Maybe it's a geologic anomaly that we've never seen before. May…maybe it's something unique to this planet. Regardless, I don't like it, and there's no way to predict when or if it will happen again."

John slowly stands up and wavers on his feet. He darts a clandestine look at Rodney, hoping the man didn't notice his unsteadiness. He's relieved to see that Rodney is still pacing and apparently didn't catch the momentary weakness. John can't afford to have the physicist worrying about something that neither of them can do anything about.

"Okay, Rodney. There's nothing we can do but keep going." He pauses as a worrying thought hits him. "Uh, McKay, is the gate actually still there?"

"Oh my God! Oh, for Pete's sake!" Rodney yells, realizing just as John does that any "geologic anomaly" could have affected the gate. It could have been damaged or even worse, swallowed up by the ground. "Please, please, please, please, just be there," Rodney gibbers as he scrambles for the detector. He drops it and swears loudly as he reaches for it. "Please, still be there. Please, please, please— Ah! It's still there," he finally reports with a satisfied grin.

John shakes his head and laughs to himself. He's suddenly grateful that some things in the universe—including Rodney McKay—stay the same no matter what weirdness abounds.

"That's good," he says, calmly. "Very good."

"Yes. Yes, indeed," Rodney agrees, with a broad smile that quickly dissipates when he takes a closer look at Sheppard. "Um, you've got some," he lifts his hand to his nose, "blood, just, right there."

Wiping viciously at the blood dripping down his face again, John curses.

"Maybe you should sit down," Rodney says, with faint hesitation. "Maybe we should, I don't know, check you out. Were you hurt when the ground did its disturbing, little funhouse dance? I mean, I caught sight of you once, and it looked like you were being tossed around a lot."

"I'm fine, McKay. Nothing but a few bruises."

"Yeah, but before that, since we've gotten stuck on this freaky ass planet, you haven't looked exactly in tip-top shape."

John looks sharply at Rodney.

"It's just a headache and a bloody nose, McKay," he says in a tone that makes it clear the discussion is over.

There's a moment's quiet, and then Rodney hurriedly says, "You keep passing out."

"McKay! Will you just leave it alone?" And okay, maybe he said that too harshly. John takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down. "Look, Rodney, unless you've got Carson stashed away in your pack, there's nothing we can do. The best thing is to just get to the gate, get off this planet and back to Atlantis. Besides, I'm telling the truth," he adds, as his headache spikes again and nearly bowls him over, "it's not that bad. So don't worry about it, all right? I'll tell you when to start worrying."

Rodney looks skeptical and none-too-happy about the situation. But after a moment, he fiddles with the scanner, and then points down the pathway.

"It's this way," he says, unnecessarily.

He takes a cautious step, then a few more, all the while glaring at the ground like he doesn't trust it. John sighs heavily and follows.

***

It suddenly gets warmer, not unpleasantly so because the breeze is still cool and brisk, but it's warmer nonetheless. There's also the faint, salty smell of seawater in the air. John can't help but smile a little to himself. The light wind brushing against his face is tinged with the scents of a summer ocean. Both warm and cold, grassy and salty, filled with a rich mix of other complex contradictions that warms John's heart. Unexpectedly, and for the first time since he stepped through the stargate and landed in another galaxy, he misses Earth.

"Is there an ocean around here somewhere, McKay?" he asks, feeling dreamy and dislocated.

"No. No ocean. But there's a lake up ahead." Rodney pushes a few buttons on the scanner. "Hmmm, it's pretty big. And rich in salts and other minerals. Probably accounts for the ocean-like feel to the air."

"Reminds me of California," John says, wistfully. "My brother and I would spend all day in the water. Wouldn't come out unless a bad storm hit."

"Yeah, why doesn't that surprise me?" Rodney says, obviously not convinced that spending entire days in the ocean is fun. "Listen, doesn't something about this place strike you as weird?"

"What, besides the ground not following the rules?" John asks. He notices that some of the trees have lost their autumn colors. Scattered between the burnt oranges and fiery reds are the green stains of summer. "And the trees being confused about what time of year it is?" he asks, nudging McKay's attention to the tree line with a gentle but pointed lift of his chin.

Rodney stops and stares for a moment, before shaking his head in utter dismay. "Yeah, okay, yeah, that's just weird. But it's not what I'm talking about." He makes a face at the trees, and then glares uneasily at the ground again. When he stamps his feet this time, the summery smell emitted by the broken blades of grass is stronger.

Sheppard smiles vaguely.

Rodney sniffs the air and unhappily waves his hands around. "It's that! That's the smell I'm talking about!"

"The cut grass smell?" John asks, still feeling oddly disconnected.

"Exactly! I mean, don't you feel it? Isn't this place almost too, I don't know, idyllic?"

"You didn't seem to think so when the ground dropped out from under you," John says, teasingly.

Rodney belligerently eyes the traitorous land again, then shakes his head scornfully.

"Will you quit bringing that up? You're freaking me out! And, no, I mean right now. And before the ground got all, well, stupid. Everything's so peaceful. Almost too peaceful."

"I would have thought you'd enjoy that, McKay," John says, smiling a little. He stumbles and has to wipe more blood from his nose.

Rodney's demeanor darkens even further, but he refrains from commenting. "Well, don't you find it odd? I mean, you've never told me this much about yourself. Ever. Why do you suddenly feel the need to share these childhood experiences?"

His baffled tone of voice belies the innate rudeness of his pondering, so John isn't insulted by the insinuation that Rodney wants nothing to do with his past.

"You told me about that vacation home your parents had," John counters. "So it's not just me."

"But that's exactly what I'm saying! Why did I tell you that? We don't share childhood memories with each other. Ever. It's just one of those manly things we do. Or don't do, as the case may be."

There's no response John can come up with to that comment, so he shakes his head and points to the horizon.

"Just keep walking, McKay," he growls.

"I'm just saying," Rodney says, defensively.

They only walk another mile or so, when a wave of dizziness hits John. Thick blood rushes from his nose, and nausea twists his gut. His legs buckle, and suddenly he's lying face down in the grass—fucking again—and puking. Blood and vomit speckle the ground, and he moans as the sight results in another bout of nausea followed by more puking.

Blotches of blackness float across his vision, and he feels the blood draining from his head. He almost wishes he would pass out, but then he hears Rodney's frantic demands coming from somewhere beside him.

"—you do this! I forbid it! You need to stay conscious! Do you hear me? You could have a…a…a…head injury or something, so you need to stay awake!"

Rodney's wild gesticulations and ranting grab John's attention, and he's able to find the strength to banish the darkness that threatens to assault him. He blinks, once, twice, and then finds his voice.

"Rodney—"

"—Carson always says if you have a head injury, you need to stay conscious—"

"Rodney—"

"—and I don't think it's a good sign that you keep passing out and, oh, gross, vomiting and bleeding all over the place—"

"McKay! Shut up and help me up!" John's voice isn't as strong as he hoped it would be, but thankfully, it's strong enough to get the point across.

As he notices John is conscious, Rodney abruptly stops babbling.

"Oh, you're awake," he states, with fake matter-of-factness. "That's good. That's very good."

"Just help me up, McKay," John says, still feeling like crap, but knowing if he's ever going to feel better, he needs to stand up and keep walking in the direction of the gate.

Rodney looks as if he's about to say something, but he swallows the words. They look heavy and hard to gulp down, but somehow he manages. Silently he bends down to help John stand, and John appreciates the uncharacteristic quiet from the man. His head pounds, and his throat is raw from vomiting, and he doesn't feel like he could hold a lengthy conversation with anyone, least of all an unhappy Rodney McKay.

When he's standing again, John wavers on his feet and feels like he's going to fall back down. A strange buzzing cloaks his hearing, and his vision is filled with fuzzy, gray static. Things stay like that for a while. When the world clears up again, he's leaning heavily against Rodney, who is dragging them both forward.

"Rodney?" He whispers the name, because that's all he can manage.

"Sheppard? You awake? Because if you are, I suggest you start walking. There's a storm coming, a bad one, and we need to get out of here. I can't keep dragging you all over the place. My back's killing me."

"Storm?" John asks, trying with little success to help with the whole walking thing.

"Yeah, a bad one. It showed up on the horizon when you passed out this last time. I find the timing impeccable, by the way."

"Can we…outrun it?" John murmurs.

"You're kidding, right?" Rodney snarls back, as he heaves John's arm into a more stable position on his shoulder.

"Need to…need to find…shelter," John says.

"Oh, like the thought didn't occur to me, Colonel! But in case you haven't noticed, there's nothing here but the fake ocean ahead of us, the grass beneath our feet that hopefully won't drop out from under our feet, and a few trees that can't decide if it's summer or fall! So unless you have any other bright ideas—"

"Rodney," John whispers, as blood flows from his nose and his stomach lurches in time to their awkward pace.

"What?!"

Rodney's face, when John manages to see it, is wide-eyed and full of panic again.

"There's a house…." John can't find the strength to talk any further, so instead he pushes his leaden hand through the air and points.

"Where in the hell did that come from?!" Rodney yells.

John wants to laugh, but he passes out instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: A few answers...Hope you all enjoy-**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

Four Times Five is Twelve - Chapter 3

Rodney has to drag the colonel into the drab little house that suddenly appeared, because Sheppard is utterly and unhelp-fully unconscious again. It's slow going, because even though the guy looks like he could fly away with one stiff wind blowing in the wrong direction, Sheppard is actually pretty damn heavy.

"Lose some weight, Colonel," Rodney mutters as he pulls and pushes and heaves Sheppard into the house and across the dusty wooden floor. He almost drops the man at one point, and gains a splinter in his hand when his trembling limbs do a bad job at catching his burden.

The splinter is big and, well, splintery, and it hurts like hell. Rodney wants to rant and scream at someone, maybe even the heavens, but he's got enough to do lugging Sheppard farther into their rickety shelter to lean him against a rundown-looking wall. He takes a moment to look around, but there's not that much to see. The house has a single room that's relatively big in size. There is no furniture, just a couple of beams standing in the middle of a floor trying their best to keep the ceiling up. Despite the lack of windows, there's a dull light in the room that comes from above. Rodney looks up and wonders why the beams are even trying, because the ceiling has to be the most decrepit part of the decrepit house and will no doubt leak rainwater all over their heads from the holes in it where muted daylight shines through.

"I just don't understand any of this," Rodney mumbles. He's irritated by his lack of knowledge, and by how insane everything became once they stepped from a room to wherever they are now. He's a scientist through and through, and relies on life, the universe, and everything following a specific set of rules.

Here in this place, it just seems like the rules don't apply.

"Maybe it's all just the minutiae of quantum physics," he mutters to himself. The thought—although obviously foolish, because if he's right, then the laws of the universe are still playing nonsensical games—pleases him, and he feels a little comforted. "That's got to be it. All the improbable probabilities happen here, that's all. I bet I could walk right through that wall." He warily eyes the dilapidated wall in question and almost stands up before he realizes that if he tries to walk through it to prove his point, said wall might just fall over.

"Who the hell are you talking to, McKay?" Sheppard says from the far end of the shack where Rodney had left him.

The weakly uttered words are punctuated by a stab of lightning and the sudden pounding of rain overhead. Rodney looks up and notices he was correct in his assessment of the roof's ability to keep the rain out.

"We have the worst luck ever, you know that, Sheppard?" he asks, ignoring John's question.

"You're a scientist; you don't believe in luck," the colonel says quietly.

"I'm starting to," Rodney responds.

"Hey, we've got…sh-shelter." John's teeth start to chatter; Rodney can hear them from all the way on the other side of the room.

"I've had better," Rodney says, eyeing the ceiling with disgust. He takes a deep breath and then a moment for himself. Just a moment before he checks on Sheppard and has to up the level of his concern for the man.

"You okay, McKay?" The words are both gasped and interrupted by the click-clack of chattering teeth.

"Shut up, Colonel," Rodney says, and then moves back to Sheppard's side to assess his condition.

"What?" Sheppard asks, obviously confused by Rodney's quiet disrespect.

"I'm fine!" Rodney shouts, losing his patience with the entire situation as a roar of thunder assaults the humid air. "Just plain peachy! So could you stop throwing so much damn concern my way and keep a little for yourself?"

"McKay…."

Rodney sighs and closes his eyes again. He pulls the tattered threads of his well-being together just enough to be relatively civil again.

"Never mind. I'm sorry," he says, then takes a closer look at Sheppard. "You look like crap."

John huffs a laugh, but doesn't try to deny the extent of his illness this time. The colonel's amusement confuses Rodney, but he doesn't attempt to make sense out of it. Instead, he opts to sit down on the warped, wooden floor. A few drops of rainwater that gradually develop into a steady stream fall from the ceiling. Rodney moves away from the storm's encroachment until he's sitting closer to Sheppard.

"This isn't exactly shelter if the outside elements can get inside," he says sardonically.

"What were you expecting, McKay? A five-star hotel with room service?"

Rodney doesn't understand how Sheppard can still be making jokes when his voice is so weak. He experiences an oppressive wave of depression that tempers what would have normally been a snappy comeback.

"I just want to get back to Atlantis," he says, meaning it more than he has for a long time. He's all for trying to puzzle out problems, lives for it, in fact, but Sheppard's weakened state has put his curiosity on indefinite hold.

"I kn…know what you mean," John says, then makes a muted noise that sounds like something old and rusty is caught in his throat.

It's gotten darker with the storm's arrival, so Rodney can barely see Sheppard. He fumbles for a flashlight and turns it on just in time to see another, heavier spray of bright red blood flow from the colonel's nose. Rodney just wants to turn the light off so he doesn't have to see the evidence of his friend's increasing illness.

He resists that urge, and instead leans in to cup the back of John's head with his hand, to steady him and focus his attention. Rodney's heart hammers so loudly in his chest he doesn't know if he's able to speak. It's a complete surprise to find out he can.

"Look at me, Sheppard. Come on, focus! You need to stay with me! Don't pass out! Don't you do it, or else I'm going to tell Ronon how you fainted! You'll never hear the end of it! All the crap you've ever given me about fainting, well, Ronon and I are going to give it back to you in spades. We'll double it, triple it even!" Rodney's voice grows desperate as John's head becomes increasingly heavier in his hand.

Sheppard's eyes roll up into the back of their sockets, and he's unconscious and slumping sideways. Rodney frantically grabs John's jacket to ease him down on his side and barely misses getting hit by projectile vomiting. It should be nothing more than bile and digestive juices by now, but there's also blood mixed in. Rodney panics, outright panics, for a full fifteen seconds before he realizes that John is convulsing and that he's going to hurt himself even further if Rodney continues to act like a useless gork doing nothing. He jumps up and scoots around John and all the blood and body fluids leaking out of him. Then, hoping to stave off any additional damage caused by the violent spasms wracking the thin frame, Rodney clutches him and gently holds him through the bout.

He has no idea what to do, no clue how to fix this. Voodoo-doctoring is Carson's bit, not his. Sure he's taken a couple of first aid courses, they all have. But this! This is something totally beyond Rodney's scope, and he's never going to get Sheppard through this mess. Sheppard's going to die, and it's going to be all Rodney's fault and….

Rodney's still panicking when the floor shifts and the roof leaps upward.

The view is blurry when John wakes up, but he squints and is able to make out a slick floor. The rest of the room has a vague Lantean design. He's confused and his head hurts. So does his stomach. He licks his lips and wrinkles his nose at the acrid taste in his mouth. Overall, he feels miserable and hasn't a clue what's happening.

It takes a moment, but eventually he realizes his body is being held off the floor. There's a warm presence behind him, but he can't make out exactly what it is. Another moment passes, and he feels gentle rubbing on his chin, just under his mouth. A while later the rubbing stops and John sees a hand in front of his face. The hand holds a wet piece of cloth and proceeds to wipe at the tackiness John now notices under his nose. John pulls away, grabs the hand, and is rewarded by a familiar squawk.

"McKay?" he asks in a ragged croak. "That y-you?"

"Sheppard! You're awake!"

John's body changes position, and now he leans sloppily against a wall; Rodney's anxious face peers down at him. John takes another look around, and then suddenly it all comes back to him. The force field, the moving ground, the freaky trees. But all that seems to be gone now. Gone and replaced by Atlantis.

"Rodney? You got…got us home?" he asks, feeling a surge of hope.

"No. Oh no. No, I didn't." Rodney's tone is one John's never heard before. He takes a closer look at the physicist and sees that the guy is practically shell-shocked.

"Rodney, are you…okay?"

"You know, I've been thinking," Rodney says, oblivious to John's concern, practically oblivious to their surroundings. "Listen, I think this place is connected to you somehow."

"Rodney, may…maybe you ought to lie…lie down," John says, because Rodney's face is pale and frightened, and John is really worried that the physicist is going into shock.

"What?" Rodney focuses his attention on John, and then seems to snap back into himself. "Never mind. Like I said, I think I've figured out what's going on."

"Well, that's good. Then…then you can…get us out of here, right?" John asks, weakly.

"Not exactly. I'm a genius, but figuring out what's happening is a long way from actually getting us out of this mess."

"McKay—"

"It's just a theory, but I think all the craziness around here is connected to you," Rodney says.

"Are you…calling me…crazy?" John asks. His head starts to droop sideways, and he doesn't have the energy to straighten it out.

"Don't be an idiot. It's more sophisticated than that. Look, every time something weird happens you're unconscious or about to be."

"Rodney—"

"And you're getting worse as it gets weirder. There's got to be a connection somehow," Rodney says.

"Rodney, why does it look like we're in…in Atlantis? The last thing I remem…ber is that we were in a shack of some sort." John manages to interrupt McKay's theory-spouting.

"Yeah, that's the thing. This isn't Atlantis. Tell me, Colonel, what were you thinking right before you passed out the last time?"

John grimaces as he tries to remember. "How the…the hell should I know?" he asks.

"Think! This is important. It'll prove a theory."

John tries harder to remember, and the pain in his head spikes. His hand slips on the slick floor of Atlantis, and he suddenly remembers.

"I wanted to be…back home," he whispers in spite of the relentless pummeling of his headache.

"And in that moment, you probably wanted to be there more than anything else. Before that, you just wanted to get to the stargate, so you probably weren't thinking directly of Atlantis. But you were also distracted by feelings of nostalgia. The fake ocean, the autumnal evening. You mentioned that you and your brother surfed until storms hit, and then suddenly we get plagued by a storm. You thought of shelter, and then shelter mysteriously appears from nowhere. It makes sense. Oh! And I think the ground-thing that happened was a warped Ferris wheel."

"What?"

"Yeah, see, things don't entirely work out the way they should. I mean, look at this place. It's not quite Atlantis."

John tries to take a closer look around and is just able to see that the edges of the city, the parts that should be smooth and elegant, are crooked and deformed. The ceiling is a little too high, and the light coming from the fractured window of a balcony is a little too dim. Plus the place just looks… creepy.

"When did this happen?" John asks.

"After you passed out the last time," Rodney says.

Suddenly he starts looking shell-shocked again, and John wants to reach out to settle him down. Unfortunately, he can't lift the weight of his arm.

"The room just started moving. It changed shape, became what you see right now."

"Must have…freaked you out," John says.

"Yeah, no kidding!" Rodney responds. He laughs nervously, but then perks up a little as he focuses on his theory again. "It's what made me think it's connected to you somehow."

"Why me? Why not…you?"

"Simple. It's that damn ATA gene of yours," Rodney says.

"You have…it, too," John insists, not wanting to believe this is his fault.

"If you would let me finish, I'll explain!" Rodney huffs.

John opens his mouth to complain, but then shuts it. The guy has a point.

"If this had anything to do with me, we wouldn't be in the middle of nowhere. And we'd definitely be surrounded by women. Lots and lots of women!"

"McKay—"

"Your gene is stronger than mine. Plus, it's obvious something is having an effect on you. You look like crap, and I don't even have a headache," Rodney says.

"Okay, but you still haven't…explained where…we are," John says. He feels weaker and just wants to close his eyes, but he needs to understand the situation.

"I'm still not sure about that. I mean, maybe we're not on a different planet. We keep saying that, but it's just what we—well, you in particular—are used to. Getting to this place was just a matter of taking one step. One step from one room to here."

"You're say…saying we're still in Atlantis?" John asks, fighting lethargy.

"It stands to reason. I mean, it makes more sense than getting transported to a different planet."

"Okay. Okay. If wh…what you're saying…is true. How…does this h…help us?" John asks.

"Well, I'm not sure. Maybe you can think our way out of this," Rodney says.

"Rodney…."

"I know, I know. It sounds crazy, but we were in Atlantis when this started. This situation may be related to some weird Ancient technology." Suddenly Rodney starts snapping his fingers excitedly. "That's it! That's got to be it!" he crows. "Just start thinking 'off.'"

Realizing Rodney is onto something, Sheppard closes his eyes to concentrate and to do what he's been instructed. When he opens them again, he's still slumped against the wall of a disturbing-looking Atlantis.

"Didn't work," he mutters.

"Brilliant observation," McKay snaps back. "There's got to be a way out of this mess! And we better figure it out soon or else you're going to be brain damaged."

"What? McKay, what…are you talking…about?"

"It's obvious this technology, if that's what it is, is doing something to your brain. You're bleeding from your nose, you're nauseated, and you keep passing out. We have to figure a way out before you turn into a vegetable," Rodney says with unthinking callousness.

John is shocked and worried at the same time. Shocked because he can't believe Rodney just spoke to him like that, and worried because he realizes what McKay said could actually be true.

It takes him a moment to recover, but he manages to get a slight in. "Nice bedside man…ner, McKay."

Rodney, who started pacing the slick floor, turns abruptly and cocks his head quizzically. "Huh?" he asks, and then has the grace to blush when he realizes what he said. "Oh, sorry."

"Yes, you…are," Sheppard says, a little angry at Rodney's characteristic pessimism.

"Okay, insulting me isn't going to get us anywhere. We need to think of something before I start dragging your heavy ass all over hither and yon again."

"Hither…and yon?" Sheppard asks.

"Never mind. Start thinking."

There's only a moment of quiet before John thinks of something.

"Maybe the gate's not…a gate?" he asks.

Rodney considers this and nods vigorously. His pacing continues.

"It could be the control system for the technology! I don't see why it would mimic the energy signature of a gate, though. Regardless, it's still the only significant source of energy, so we should check it out."

"Why's it so far…away?" John asks through gasps of breath that are getting harder and harder to take in.

"How the hell should I know? Nothing makes sense here! All I do know is you should watch what you're thinking. No weird memories or nightmares right now, okay? That could be disastrous."

"McKay—"

"And don't try denying you have nightmares! You almost shot me that one night! It's the last time I ever share a tent with you—"

"Rodney—"

"What the hell was that all about, anyway? You looked like you had a mob on your tail, carrying torches and yelling—"

"McKay!"

Maybe it's the weakness in his voice, or the abrupt hollow sound he makes, but finally John gets Rodney's attention. The only problem is, he gets it too late. Blood gushes from his nose and his breath catches. A flash of pain and a pop in his left ear makes him grimace and moan. After that, there's only darkness and the echoing sound of McKay's voice as it fades from his consciousness.

"Oh, no! What have I done?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Hi All! Here's Chapter 4! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1...**

Four Times Five Is Twelve - Chapter 4

Rodney knows he screwed up. Knows it in a painful, glaring, oh-my-fucking-God-how-could-I-be-so-stupid sort of way. He can't account for his behavior, for his descriptive suggestion to the colonel of nightmare prevention, other than that he's been freaking out for what feels like several hours now. He's been freaking out, and when he freaks out he has a tendency to talk too much and too fast about things he should just keep quiet about. And he just did it again, and now there's going to be trouble.

Probably big trouble.

He attempts to ignore his growing panic for a moment to assess Sheppard's condition. Unfortunately, the colonel's pale and wasted appearance combined with the glaring contrast of blood and half-lidded consciousness does nothing to reassure or suggest there's anything left to do but panic some more.

Then there's noise.

Outside.

Lots of it.

Rodney grimaces and moans out loud. Here comes the trouble, right on schedule.

He moves a shaking hand toward Sheppard's head but retracts it, because there's nothing he can do. And despite his extreme reluctance, Rodney has to go see what all the commotion is outside.

"Just don't…don't die, all right?" he whispers to Sheppard. "I'll be right back."

Rodney turns and scrambles to the closest set of distorted windows. Keeping low to the ground, he manages to open a window and shuffle his way out onto a rickety balcony. It's still raining, and the water stings his eyes and pelts his skin as if the droplets are pebbles coming from the sky. He remembers thinking how being outside on the grounding site during last year's massive storm was miserable, but this is so much worse. This storm is an attack, a bombardment directed at careless physicists who don't know when the hell to shut up.

Painfully crawling and crabbing his way over, Rodney makes it to the edge of the balcony. Here he sees the building is a stunted and ungracious version of Atlantis. The balcony he's on is not far from the ground. The architecture is box-like and almost spiked in some areas. There's nothing of the long and fragile towers and columns of the true Atlantis in this structure.

But the disfigured building is the least of his troubles. Because he can see now, as he crouches in the wounding rain and ducks as thunder roars, that there are people down below. And below on this underdeveloped Atlantis isn't so far below as to provide a sense of safety.

Trying to get a better view, Rodney squints. The rain rushes at him, and a streak of lightning arcs and branches in the sky. The flashes of light accompanying the electricity in the sky help to illuminate the crowd below, and Rodney realizes thinking of the things down there as "people" was probably a misnomer.

Well, actually there's no probably about it. Those things down there are definitely not people, they're more like…well, things, and Rodney can't help but wonder how messed up Sheppard's brain is to come up with such a freakish scenario.

The swarming, people-sized creatures below rage and revel in the storm. Rodney sees long ears and protruding chins and noses. He sees round, grinding mouths filled with blackness that is only interrupted by short, pointed teeth. He sees muscular violence and beady, oily eyes.

Each creature is unique in its horror, but seemingly all are of the same purpose. They crowd the tower, push and struggle against it. A few look up at Rodney, and there are determined flashes of hunger and anticipation in their eyes. Rodney gapes, as a creature that looks like a fish with reptile legs and a furry bear coat opens its mouth wide and smacks its fuzzy, fishy lips hungrily a few times. Its wide jaw widens further, and he can't believe it, but the thing is actually smiling—smiling—at him!

Another skittering thing with the face of a rat and the tongue of a snake climbs over its fellows. It chews and gnaws at the other creatures, and when its greasy, stunted wings flutter, it gains some height and drips blood and goo all over the place. Creatures in its path hiss and spit at it, but it's not until another, bigger thing catches it in a wide and gaping mouth that its destructive path ends. The bigger thing chomps down twice, swallows easily, and then pushes forward.

The churning mass of twisted bodies extends far into the horizon. Their forms blend and shimmer in Rodney's vision until he can't see anything except doom and no escape.

He turns away from the roiling hoard of creatures, stalks off the balcony, and then paces the interior room wildly. A loud banging sound comes from somewhere below, and the noise is undoubtedly indicative of the monsters trying to get in. Rodney suddenly understands that the creatures are downstairs, and he and John are upstairs, and all that stands between them is an indeterminate number of stairs, as well as a door with a questionable ability for keeping the things out.

This is his fault. It's his fault, and he's got to do something to rectify it.

It takes him a moment—because, really, he's not totally into the whole self-sacrificing thing, yet he will do what has to be done—but eventually he comes up with a plan.

He pulls out his sidearm and checks the clip. It's full and ready. He realizes he should think this plan through a little, and normally he would do exactly that. But there's not enough time, at least not for Sheppard, and besides, Rodney's been subjected to the colonel's spontaneity long enough to know this isn't the kind of plan you think through; it's the kind of plan you jump right into with the blind hope that someone—preferably a good someone—still stands at the end of it.  
He scrambles to Sheppard and begins pilfering firepower and ammunition from his tac vest. He tugs Sheppard's sidearm from its holster, and he's reaching down for the P-90 which is resting on the floor in the crook of the colonel's arms, when John's eyes widen and register something besides the brainless state of a vegetable.  
"Mc…Kay?"

Sheppard's voice is harsh and weak and everything else it's not supposed to be, and it immediately grates on Rodney's nerves. "Shut up," he says, pulling at the P-90 while Sheppard tries to hold onto it. It's a weak attempt to maintain possession, and Rodney easily takes the gun away. He maneuvers Sheppard slightly to get at the remainder of the ammunition he knows is in a pocket on the side of his vest and notices, without really wanting to, that there's now a stream of blood coming from the man's left ear.

"What are…." John apparently can't finish the question, but Rodney has no doubt what he's asking.

"There are monsters at the door, and I need as much firepower as I can get to blow them all to smithereens," he grumbles, refusing to look Sheppard in the eye.

"Wait…here. 'Lantis will…find…us."

"We don't have that kind of time. I've got to do something now, or else the things outside will rip us to pieces when they make it through that door."

"Safer…here. Defend…able."

Rodney makes a point of looking him in the eye.

"All right, when I said 'we' don't have that kind of time, I actually meant you. From the looks of it, you're not going to hold out much longer."

Sheppard can't speak anymore, but there's no mistaking the angry glint in his eye.

"Oh, don't give me that crap! If our situations were reversed you'd be the first one out that door," Rodney snaps, then softens his tone when he reads the frustration and self-flagellation in Sheppard's face. "Listen, ultimately, this is an act of self-preservation, because who knows what will happen if you…die…while we're stuck here. Wherever…here is. I don't like this idea any more than you, but I've got overwhelming firepower. I like my chances. And unless you have any other idea for getting us out of this mess and to that energy signature, then I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself!"

A parade of emotion stomps its way across Sheppard's face, and he reaches out with a weak and shaking hand. Rodney grasps it so he doesn't have to see it wavering all over the place. He gasps when Sheppard pulls him forward.

"Don't…do th…this," John says, and there's iron and steel in his eyes. Blood pours from his nose, and he turns a few unbelievable shades whiter before he falters and groans.

Rodney gently pulls his hand out of John's grasp.

"I don't have any choice," he says.

John's eyes are half-closed, but there's no mistaking the angry plea drifting there.

Rodney ignores it, turns his back, and steps out to do battle.

As he walks away, he maintains a purposeful stride until he reaches the staircase. At the top of the twisted steps, the reality of what he is about to do hits him, and his body turns into one gigantic mess of jelly.

What in the hell is he thinking?!

"No thinking, no thinking," he mutters to himself.

But he is a scientist, after all, and thinking is kind of his job, so it shouldn't be a surprise when his imagination starts torturing him with all the countless ways he's going to die out there with the monsters.

"I can do this," he says to himself, trying to believe the words, trying to dispel the thoughts driving his guts into wriggling, watery goo.

He takes the first few uneven steps down and sees the door the creatures are trying to get through. It's too short and too wide, and the upper right corner of its frame crawls up significantly higher than the left. All in all, it reminds Rodney of an Alice in Wonderland door, a thought which offers him no comfort since that book always creeped him out. There's another banging noise, and the door warps and buckles with the impact it's taking from the other side. Somehow the measly-looking thing holds, and Rodney continues his way down the stairs. Before he wants to be, he stands in front of the crooked door. He stares at it as it buckles again, and then draws his attention to the doorknob.

It's odd, he thinks, for a door from Atlantis to have a doorknob. But he shrugs off that thought, because, truthfully, everything about this situation is odd. Maybe he really is in Wonderland, and maybe his Wonderland is simply a weird dream, just like it was for Alice. He garners minimal comfort from the thought, but it's enough to get him to extend his shaking hand toward the doorknob.

His entire focus remains on the doorknob, which appears to be made of multi-faceted glass and reminds him of the old doorknobs on the doors to every room in his family's vacation home. Part of him analyzes this aberration, but then his fingers make contact with the glass. A strong sensation, almost like a jolt of electricity, goes through him and wakes him up enough so he can position the P-90 in a faintly aggressive way. He sets his jaw, stiffens his back, braces his jelly-filled legs, and twists the doorknob.

The door swings open, and he blindly starts shooting.

Blindly, because his eyes closed of their own accord with the first up-close sight of the scary, hairy creatures.

He supposes the military archetype he's trying to emulate wouldn't have his eyes closed, but he figures he's doing the best he can, and "the best he can" has served him well enough in the past. He is, after all, only a scientist. A scientist with a one-of-a-kind brilliance, but a scientist nonetheless.

After that, he has no time for thinking, just blind, dumb, deaf, and otherwise senseless survival.

In a fake city of Atlantis, John pulls his prone and weakened body to the edge of a deformed staircase. He loses more blood before he reaches his goal, and his arms collapse beneath him. His eyes slide shut as he says a word. It's a quiet word, an almost soundless word, but the walls around him hear it.

"Rodney."

Far below John, and outside an out-of-place door in a fake city, the storm-washed air smells of grit and musk and blood. There are piles of creatures beside and in front of Rodney. Empty of ammunition, the P-90 abruptly stops firing, and Rodney grabs a grenade off his vest. He blithely wonders what Sheppard was doing carrying a grenade around during a routine search of the halls of Atlantis, when he is overrun by crazed monsters. He's prevented from triggering the grenade by the weight of heavy and hairy bodies, and as sharp, stinging teeth sink into his legs, he instinctively reaches for the door, for the portal to relative safety.

He's pulled away from the protection the door offers and into the arms of an insane nightmare.

On the other side of a very different door, Radek Zelenka swears in Czech. He rearranges a series of crystals yet again, and a strange chirping noise emanates from the panel he fiddles with. A sigh of relief escapes him, then he yells out, "Doctor Weir! I think I did it!"

Rodney is slapping at shaggy, clawed paws and is screaming high-pitched screams when he realizes he's struggling with empty air. Cautiously, he opens his eyes and sees nothing but an open room that is decidedly of Lantean architecture. There is no weirdness, no warpness, no twistedness, just beautiful, elegant, smooth Lantean lines and surfaces.

Nervously patting himself down, he looks for wounds that only moments ago bled profusely and hurt. A lot. But he's whole, hearty, and hale, with the exception of a bad case of the shakes and some definite sweating issues. The shock of unexpectedly being alive forces a gentle huff of amazement from him, and as he stands on shaky legs, he smiles broadly.

But when he sees the figure of Sheppard, curled up and bleeding on the slick floor not too far away, the smile quickly contradicts itself so he's frowning by the time he scuttles over and checks the colonel's pulse.

He holds his breath, waiting for the feeling of pressure under his fingertips, and he's so focused on that one, simple evidence of life he doesn't realize other people have entered the room.

"Rodney!" The voice is strident and demands attention.

Rodney feels a sluggish pulse under his hands as he looks up to see what else is going on. Elizabeth is there with Teyla, Ronon, and Radek. Rodney doesn't wonder at their sudden and mysterious appearance, doesn't hesitate to think about anything besides what is truly important.

"Get Beckett! Sheppard needs help!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Hi everyone. I managed to clear up the remainder of th formatting issues, so this is the final chapter of this completed fic. Thanks to everyone who took the time to send feedback! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

****Four Times Five Is Twelve - Chapter 5

John's awake and has been for quite some time. He just can't seem to open his eyes, or move, or do most of the things people who are conscious usually do. Instead, he's forced to listen to the quiet, muffled whispers surrounding him.

He's sure the murmuring is people talking; the pattern of its ebb and flow sound vocal in nature. He can almost recognize the voices if he concentrates hard enough, but he can't quite figure out what they're saying. It's frustrating, like having a forgotten word on the tip of his tongue.

Without realizing what he's doing, his head shifts just a little, and suddenly the sounds are clearer and recognizable.

"…freakin' warped out Ferris wheel!"

"Rodney, I realize you've been through an ordeal, but you need to calm down and explain what happened to the colonel."

That voice is Beckett's, and with an internal grimace, John knows he's in the infirmary again.

"But Carson, you have no idea! It was…was insane! The place was really messed up!"

"Rodney! You need to calm down so we can help Colonel Sheppard!"

And there is Elizabeth.

John smiles to himself as Rodney immediately responds to Weir's commanding tones. He hears McKay take a long, shuddering breath, then his words come out hurried, but somehow smoother. Saner.

"It was weird. It was like the place was taking things out of his head. But it was all twisted and messed up. I mean, before we crossed the force field, we were talking about how creepy the lab was. Then Sheppard said something about Halloween, we walked through the shield, and suddenly it's autumn in New England. When we talked about Ferris wheels, the earth became a wacky and not particularly fun Ferris wheel!"

Rodney's voice is taking on a bit of hysteria now. John hears a shuffling noise and a light patting sound.

"Calm down, Rodney. It's okay."

Beckett again, and he's probably patting Rodney on the shoulder.

"Well obviously that's not true, or Sheppard wouldn't be lying in that bed over there! Nor, for that matter, would I be lying in this bed!"

Sheppard feels a stab of anxiety, because he needs to know what's wrong with Rodney that he's in a bed in the infirmary. But John's still incapable of opening his eyes or even moving his head more than incrementally. He hears a sound, a steady beeping in the background, speed up. All the other sounds, the voices, abruptly stop. There's the whish of moving air as someone comes near, but John still can't respond.

"Is he okay?" Rodney's voice is uneasy. Concerned.

There's a pause, and then Beckett's voice reverberates from somewhere near John. "He's fine, Rodney."

Beckett's voice resonates and is both too loud and too soft. Nausea assails John, and he grays out for a little while. When he drifts back to the place where he can hear what's going on in the world, he finds the conversation has continued without him.

"I think everything was from Sheppard. I mean, it was totally, well, nuts, but it all originated from him. Like the Atlantis we were in. It was obviously Atlantis, but too different. Almost sinister. And those freakin' monsters!"

Monsters? John wonders what in the hell happened.

"McKay—"

A warning tone from Ronon makes John want to smile. Predictably, he doesn't succeed in even twitching his lips.

"There must have been some component from the lab that was able to read his mind," Rodney hypothesizes; he is obviously trying to pull himself together to keep Ronon from clonking him over the head. "There's no other explanation. I don't know why the whole place was weird and twisted, but everything that happened was directly related to the colonel."

"Doctor Zelenka is working on figuring out the technology. Hopefully he'll have some answers soon," Elizabeth says.

Rodney huffs but makes no further comment. There's a pause before he starts talking again. "The only thing I don't get is the trees," he says wistfully.

"The trees?"

That's Teyla, and John is overwhelmingly happy to hear her.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes, the trees. They started out looking like trees from a New England fall, but then they got mixed up. Some of them started turning summery. And the weather changed so abruptly—it got warm pretty quickly. I don't know what he was thinking that made the weather change so drastically."

"Perhaps it is not necessary to understand," Teyla says wisely.

"It's just annoying me," Rodney says, and there's a tired shrug in his voice.

John wishes he could talk, because he would explain. He would explain how the grass McKay tore and ranted at smelled like summer. Smelled like green leaves and surfing.

But he can't talk, not yet, so he must settle for fading away, for drifting into blackness, far from the bright noises his friends are making.

The next time John opens his eyes, the infirmary lights are dimmed, an indication it's nighttime on Atlantis. He's grateful this time he is strong enough to force his eyelids open and even to turn his head a little to one side. What he sees is another infirmary bed occupied by McKay. The man is deeply asleep; John knows this because there is drool sliding its way down Rodney's chin and seeping into the collar of his infirmary scrubs.

A muffled sound comes from somewhere on the other side of him, and he slowly turns his head to see what is going on.

Carson Beckett stands over his patient with a kind, worried expression on his face. "Are you feeling any pain, Colonel?"

The truth is John's not feeling much of anything except for exhaustion and a dry mouth. He experiences the soft edges of consciousness and wavering ability for concentration, and recognizes the symptoms of the good drugs floating through his system. The very good drugs.

"How's McKay?" he asks. It's a breathless question, voiced without sound. Any other person would have a hard time translating the mouthed words, but this is Carson. Unfortunately, he is well accustomed to doing such things.

"He's fine, Colonel," Carson assures, and gently grips John's shoulder to emphasize the truth of his response. "He was a wee bit shocky at first, but it wasn't anything some fluids and rest won't resolve. The rather large offering from the cafeteria Ronon brought him is helping as well."

John snorts, and Carson shares a smile with him.

"As for you, Colonel, well, I'm afraid things didn't go quite so well," the doctor says.

Carson starts talking about ruptured blood vessels and minor internal bleeding that looks as if it's resolving itself. John listens with half an ear, and turns his head to glance at McKay again. When he does, the sound of Carson's soft brogue is dampened and strange. Fingers gently but assertively touch his chin and turn his head. The sight of McKay blurs, and a dizzying moment later, John is looking at Carson again.

"You have a ruptured eardrum as well, Colonel. It will heal in time, but until then, you'll have to rely on your right ear."

"Right," John says, feeling strange and medicated.

"Why don't you get some more rest, Colonel," Carson says. "We can talk more in the morning."

John furrows his brow as his sluggish brain recalls turncoat ground and a miraculously appearing shelter that changed and stretched into ugly walls. He glances at Rodney again, then grabs Carson's lab coat.

Carson turns around and gives him a questioning look.

"Are you all right, Colonel?"

It takes a moment to gather the energy to speak again, and when he does his voice is still nothing more than a whisper. But urgency spurs him on, and he asks, "What happened to him?"

"You mean Rodney?" Carson asks, and John just nods.

Carson smiles and pulls a stool over so he can sit next to John's bedside.

"You're never going to believe it, Colonel," the doctor says happily.

He then proceeds to tell John a story about monsters and mad scientists.

He's stronger when he wakes up again and, apparently, so is Rodney, because he's sitting in a chair instead of lying in the bed next to him. McKay is obviously eager to talk, but he does the right thing and calls Carson first. Carson does all the usual assessments and proclaims John better but not fit enough to leave the infirmary for at least a day or two.

When the doctor leaves, Rodney gets to his feet and grins smugly. Knowing he isn't going to like what he's about to hear, John wishes the physicist would move to his left so he can take advantage of his semi-deafness. Obviously Rodney was briefed about John's condition and remains stalwartly within hearing range.

"What?" John sharply asks, when Rodney lingers in silent self-righteousness for a little too long.

McKay's smile broadens impossibly further.

"I told you this was your fault," Rodney says, rocking on his heels. "You owe me three chocolate chip PowerBars."

"What the hell are you talking about, McKay?" John asks.

"This was your fault. Seems like your Ancient gene—"

"My superior Ancient gene," John says, interrupting because he has the idea that drawing attention to his natural and McKay-envied Ancient heredity may be the only punch he's going to be able to take in this verbal battle.

"Whatever," Rodney says, dismissively. "Your Ancient gene activated some sort of holographic program."

"What are you saying, McKay? All that time we were on an Ancient holodeck?" John asks, incredulously.

"Hmm, yes, but you're missing the point. The point being this was your fault," Rodney says, triumphantly.

"I'd thought you'd be more excited about the technology," John says, carefully refraining from admitting any culpability.

"Well, yes, normally that would be true, but the entire program is corrupted." Rodney says.

Not quite believing a minor irritation such as corrupted programming is actually a deterrent for Rodney, Sheppard frowns. Rodney notices his skepticism and begins pacing around John's bed.

"Okay, yes," Rodney says, all waving arms and terse explanation, "it is similar to the technology in the holograph room, yet it's much more elegant. But for all its elegance, the programming is fatally flawed. Looks like the Ancients actually abandoned the project after some of them had experiences, well, similar to yours. It's the interface between the technology and the brain that's causing the problem. It isn't translating correctly. That's why everything was off. When we were in there, you mentioned Ferris wheels, and the ground got all wonky. We got a piss poor shelter that eventually became a creepy version of Atlantis instead of the real thing. Oh, and the babbling about childhood glory days was a result of the interface trying to, well, interface. Seems like my Ancient gene—"

"Your puny Ancient gene," John interjects, eager and happy to score another point.

"Since I was right about this being your fault, I'll ignore your weak attempt to insult me," Rodney says disdainfully. He huffs out a burst of irritation, and then continues his explanation. "The presence of my Ancient gene caused the interface to attempt to merge with my brainwaves, but it was less than successful."

"Because your gene is puny," John says, and he almost can't resist smiling this time. Rodney glares daggers at him—large, pointy, serrated ones—but keeps true to his word and ignores the insult. Suddenly, John doesn't feel like smiling anymore.

"There's no way to save the technology or use it," Rodney continues, "unless you like having all your blood vessels burst simultaneously. Not exactly my idea of fun, actually." Although McKay's words are cavalier, his haunted look makes Sheppard probe his answer a little further.

"But it's a holodeck, Rodney. I mean surely you could find a way to fix it."

"No," Rodney says, holding up a hand and abruptly stopping his pacing. He casts a disturbed and surreptitious look John's way and shrugs. "I have to say the Ancients got it right this time."

McKay swallows tightly, and then visibly straightens his posture. John sees the physicist's jaw jut out and knows any further conversation regarding the continued use of the holographic technology is officially taboo.

"You're still missing the point, Colonel," Rodney eventually says, his eyes flashing defiantly and his jaw tightening further with stubbornness. "We had a deal, and that deal was if this mess was your fault you would give me three chocolate chip PowerBars. I expect immediate payment."

John knows exactly what the point is. He almost died, and McKay doesn't want to talk about it. Rodney's obviously trying to protect his own emotional well-being, and John understands that all too well. He thinks about the choice Rodney must have made in that moment Beckett told him about, that moment when he was willing to sacrifice himself. John's been there, and it's never an easy thing to accept death when you're fighting so hard to stay alive. He experiences a rush of affection and true understanding for McKay.

"I don't remember making any deal," he says, playing along for the moment. If there's a heartfelt croak to his voice, neither of them acknowledge it.

"Well, you may have been sort of, well, unconscious at the time, but a deal's a deal," Rodney says.

John refrains from comment, and they're both quiet for a while. John thinks again about what Rodney went through, and realizes that as team leader he must acknowledge such a grand gesture of geek heroism.

"Listen, McKay, the doc told me what you did, with those creatures, and all—"

"Honestly, what goes through your head? They were monstrous! They, they were actually scarier than the Wraith! It was the unknown quality of them. I mean, at least you know what you're getting with the Wraith. They're all 'Arrgh, Grrr, let me suck your life,' but these guys were all sorts of weird and hairy. I'm pretty sure they would have eaten me given the chance! But that's the point, because I'm not totally sure. They could have just as well sacrificed me to some smelly, greasy god—"

"McKay!" John says, recognizing the explosion of words as a tactic to deflect the conversation.

Rodney stills, and then meekly says, "Listen, John, I really don't want to talk about it."

"Well, you're going to talk about it, because throwing your life away for me is something we have to talk about," John says, forcing anger he doesn't truly feel into his weakening voice.

"What?" Rodney says, shocked. "That's hardly the reaction I would expect from you, Sir Sammy Suicide."

"Sammy Suicide? What the hell are you talking about, McKay?" For someone so smart, McKay's lack of cleverness is sometimes less than pathetic.

"You know what I mean. You're constantly putting yourself in harm's way for me, and when I do it for you, this is the reaction I get? I thought you'd be at least a little, I don't know, grateful?" Rodney waves his hands in a hurt and confused way as he speaks.

"That's different, McKay," John says. He feels the drag of exhaustion and drugs, and needs this conversation to be over right now.

"How is it different?" Rodney asks, abruptly standing and raring for a fight.

"It's my job to protect you, not the other way around! If you died, how do you think this expedition could survive without you, the smartest man in two galaxies?"

Rodney bows his head sullenly. It's obvious he understands what John is saying, but he's not ready to admit it yet.

"You're important to this expedition, too, you know," Rodney says, almost too quietly for John and his half-assed hearing to catch.

John takes a deep breath, because he needs to get this right, needs to make McKay understand in the simplest terms possible.

"I understand the motivation, Rodney. Really, I do. But let me tell you something. If you ever do anything like that again, I'll kill you myself."

Rodney gulps but lifts his head with the remaining defiance at his disposal.

"With my bare hands, McKay!" John adds, and Rodney noticeably slumps.

Rodney looks hurt as he lumbers to the chair beside the head of John's bed, and John feels a stab of pity. But it's not enough to sway him from his decision. He can't have one of his scientists going off half-cocked and unnecessarily sacrificing themselves for the greater good. It's just not the way things work in the Pegasus Galaxy.

But neither can he ignore Rodney's actions and the depth of friendship behind them. The stab of pity becomes one of self-recrimination, and that John can't ignore. Painfully, he reaches over and playfully slaps the back of Rodney's bowed head.

"Thanks, McKay," he says, gruffly. Meaningfully.

Rodney lifts his head, and his eyes move quickly back and forth seeking something in John. John gives him what he's looking for when he nods and smiles grimly.

McKay relaxes, and some of his truculence returns as he arrogantly grins and crosses his arms. "Three chocolate chip PowerBars, Colonel," he says, stretching out an arm and snapping his fingers sadistically.

"You'll have to settle for lemon crisp, McKay," John says, and his smile flaunts a challenge that is only exaggerated by his sly expression.

Rodney is still spluttering his indignation when John's eyes close.

The scent of summer bright grass follows John into sleep, reminding him of secrets that need to be told. When he wakes up—to a clear Atlantis morning—he'll explain to McKay how trees can sometimes be confused and why autumn's air occasionally gathers heat unnaturally fast.

But for now, he sleeps.

And his sleep is restful and dream-free.


End file.
